Straightaway Dangerous
by faireweather
Summary: During the final battle, an unexpected insult sends Fenrir Greyback on a rampage, changing 39 people into werewolves, and the entire course of wizarding history. He should've known better than to make Hermione one of that number. No one ostracises her mate. Er, pack. Hermione/Draco. Includes werewolf living and culture; unspeakably dashing, dangerous, and douchey Unspeakables.
1. Wolfsbane Isn't for Muggles

**NOTE:** Because of Greyback's rampage, the course of the final battle changed. This means that, as luck would have it, both Fred and Tonks were in different places at different times, and survived the battle. Please rest assured that the events of that night will be covered in future chapters, but for now, know that they are both living. Thanks!

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_Much Madness is divinest Sense -_

_To a discerning Eye -_

_Much Sense - the starkest Madness -_

_`Tis the Majority_

_In this, as All, prevail -_

_Assent - and you are sane -_

_Demur - you`re straightaway dangerous -_

_And handled with a Chain_

-Emily Dickinson

**Chapter 01: Wolfsbane Isn't for Muggles**

Granger's hair only got worse after the bite. Unfortunately, so had his.

She pushed her heavy fringe out of her eyes, exhaled in such a way that her whole body seemed to deflate, and stared down into the cauldron on her kitchen table.

Draco leaned over to peer in. "What are you doing? You're not even half-done stirring that shit yet."

"I know, Malfoy, _God_," she said. "It's so bloody _hot_ in here. I can barely _breathe_, for Merlin's sake."

Draco swished his wand and a set of numbers shimmered into existence. He cocked an eyebrow. "It's 18 degrees." Still cool, despite the two bubbling cauldrons in her hearth, and the two more they were finishing up on the table.

"I know!" she said.

Draco sniffed, then smirked. "Are you—?"

"Yes!" she said, smacking her hand against the table. Her hand left behind a dent in the wood. "I'm _in heat_, Malfoy. Yes. You're so clever! I must be the only female werewolf in the whole bloody world who ovulates at the full moon and menstruates at the new moon. It's not fair! Instead of only having one shit week a month, I get two!"

Draco smirked, and turned back to his decanting. They had a few hours yet to get all these Wolfsbanes distributed, but there was no sense in risking potency by letting them oxidise overmuch. "You could take a potion for that."

She growled. "I wish I could take a potion for _you_ sometimes."

"But not today," he said.

She sighed, picked up her stirring rod. "Not today," she agreed.

Draco finished decanting the first cauldron and pulled another from the fire. Granger passed him the stirring rod without missing a beat, which was nothing unusual. She'd been his partner for five years, since they both finished the morally questionable, likely illegal, and highly secret training program for the Unspeakables, and while he'd never admit it to their twat boss, Graves, the department hadn't been wrong when they said he and Granger had compatible magic. And compatible tempers. And compatible _monthly schedules_.

They were the only two werewolves in the department, but far from the only ones in the Ministry. On the new moon, the two of them got together with the other Ministry werewolves in the canteen and had a big, loud, werewolfy lunch together. While Draco would have loved to put the blame for that humiliating idea at Granger's feet, it had, unfortunately, been one of his mother's schemes.

'_Let them see that you're just like everyone else,'_ she'd said, and had then paused—no doubt remembering the tea set she'd had to replace just that morning. '_Perhaps just a little stronger. Ah—perhaps we could use that as a marketing tool. Do you suppose that werewolf fitness programmes would take off?'_ Her own fitness programme now included a morning jaunt around the perimeter of the Manor grounds, and fox hunting at the full moon.

Which was certainly true. Granger was the worst. She'd always been such a tiny thing before the bite (a year on the run with very little to eat certainly hadn't helped that) and Draco supposed she still wasn't used to being able to unscrew jar lids on her own, much less dislocate Weasley's shoulder when she was trying to mother hen him into sitting down to tea. Draco gave her credit for it, though. Weasley had been a burly git even before the bite. Draco might've been an alpha, but he could admit that it was only because Weasley was too simple to have a go at it himself, not because he was physically the strongest. Mentally strongest? Of that, there was no contest.

"I'm going to drop this batch off at Slug and Jiggers," said Draco. "Do you want me to take the ones down to Aberrant's, too?"

"For all the fussing you make over my flat being in Knockturn Alley," Hermione said, not looking up from her decants, "You certainly enjoy chumming it up with my landlady."

In truth, Draco was sort of jealous of Granger's flat. There was a fireplace against one wall because it was a wizard-made building and every wizard-made building had a fireplace unless zoning ordinances were particularly contrary, so it didn't say much that there was one. It was in decent shape, had a nice loo, and was in prime location for those of abnormal circumstance. Like werewolves. No one in Knocturne Alley batted a glamoured eyelash at a werewolf, even prior to the abolition of the Werewolf Registry. It was also not the same place her parents lived, which was more than he could say for his own 'apartment' within Malfoy Manor.

He pasted on a sneer. It was wasted on her. "Shall I put on my slippers, pour myself a bowl of Ogden's, and let you have at it, then?"

She finally looked up at that, her mouth quirking on one side. Her pointed canine peeked out between her lips in a most becoming, and beastly, sort of way. He scowled. It wasn't enough that he was a werewolf, apparently. It had to also happen that he was _attracted_ to the _look_ of werewolves. Or maybe it was just Granger. "As if, Malfoy. You sopped it all over my floor last time. Tonight it's just you, me, and BBC Four."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "No. I can't sit through another documentary. Global warming depresses me, and I can't do anything about it anyway since magic doesn't have a carbon footprint. I want to watch East Enders."

The living room floo flared to life before she could respond, and Draco's eyes widened at the extremely loud voice on the other end.

"Hermione? Darling? It's Mum! Are you home? Dad's ready to come through to check the locks."

"Fuck," Draco muttered. Granger gave him a speaking look. It told him to get out of her flat, or behave himself. He chose to disapparate.

-x-

Most witches, Hermione might suppose, would have been terrified of telling their parents they were, quite suddenly, a werewolf. Most witches were not Hermione Granger, and most witches' parents were not Wendell and Monica Wilkins, recently of Australia, who had a magical daughter, discovered they were not, in fact, of Australia, and likewise were not Wendell and Monica. They'd put up with quite a bit of 'quite too much' from her—from magic to memory charms to moving across the globe. Hermione was always haring off on mad adventures, like camping. All good learning experiences, according to the Grangers. If she wanted to be a werewolf, well, they would support her 'life choices'.

They supported her so much, in fact, that despite all of Hermione's protestations and subtle _Confundus_ charms, it never failed that on the morning of the full moon, Wendell Granger (he was not comfortable returning to Clarence) would come through her floo, in her flat, in bloody Knockturn Alley, to do a check of her doors and windows. As if a burglar might try to come through while Hermione was indisposed.

"There you are," said her Mum, smiling through the flames. "Having a good day off work, then?"

"Absolutely," Hermione said. After seven years of this routine, she'd learned to not bother trying to correct them any longer. She was, in their eyes, a free-spirited hipster, and would always remain so. Muggles, it seemed, were incapable of separating real lycanthropy from _Thriller_ music videos. She struggled for something suitably mundane to offer up. "I think I'll read for a bit, catch up on laundry, have an early night, the usual."

"Good for you, darling. You deserve a break. Dad's coming through now. Love you." She leaned out of the fireplace and was replaced by a large hand reaching through, as if searching for something to hold onto. Hermione rolled her eyes, and grabbed hold of her dad's arm. He stepped into her flat, gracefully enough, all things considered.

"Good morning, darling." He ruffled her hair. Since it could not get any worse, Hermione remained unfazed. As was his pattern, he moved off towards the bedroom to begin his rounds, calling over his shoulder, "Are you watching East Enders tonight? Sonia and Naomi have—"

Fortunately, her wand alarm chirruped, signalling that the last cauldron was ready for stirring and decanting. "Let me just check my potion," she called.

He continued his circuit apace. It was habit now. He knew her flat as well as she did. By the time she'd finished stirring and begun the decants, her Dad was finished. He met her in the kitchen, peered into the cauldron. "Smells good. What is it?"

It did not, in fact, smell good. Wolfsbane smelled _too much_. It was a confluence of dozens of highly odorous ingredients. They were all, according to human consensus, nice-smelling aromas, but they were the very definition of migraine to an actual werewolf.

"Potion."

He nodded sagely. "Is this your wolf potion?"

"Yes."

"What would happen if I drank some?"

Hermione paused in the middle of corking a vial. Their eyes met over the steam of the cauldron and Wendell's mouth quirked up on one side. With him as her father, she'd never stood a chance against the appeals of science. "I don't know. Maybe nothing, since you're a muggle."

Which reminded her to take her own. She did so, grimacing at the taste of flowers. So many bloody _flowers_. If she wanted to eat flowers, she damn well wouldn't have been a werewolf.

He pursed his lips as if this were a great mystery to consider. He met her eyes again. Their stare held. Hermione huffed out a sigh. "Oh, fine!" She passed him the vial. "If you tell Mum I gave you this—"

"Yes, yes," said her Dad. He uncorked it and took a small sip. His nose scrunched. She smirked. Scents could be deceiving. After a moment, he said, "I don't feel very wolf-like."

"That's the point."

She sent him home with the excuse that she had errands to run, and sincerely hoped that this would not be the time that his penchant for experimental potions was the time that poisoned him, as she would be unable to hold a wand after 6:08 this evening. At least her Mum had the floo address for St Mungo's, if something went dreadfully wrong.

Downstairs, in her apothecary, Mrs Aberrant was restocking the gurdyroot while listening to Celestina Warbeck's 2004 Christmas album. It was only November. While Hermione and Draco had been up since seven completing the last stage of the Wolfsbane potions, the shops here in the Alley were just starting for the day, and it was already after nine. Lazy buggers.

"You can set them by the till, dear," said the old woman. "Abel'll transfer the money to your account in the morning."

It was good to be partnered to a Potions Master, sometimes. Even if that Potions Master was Malfoy. Because of the importance of Wolfsbane, the potion could only be sold commercially if a licensed brewer prepared it. There weren't many of those in the UK, and even fewer who'd sell it for the price of materials. Hermione just wanted every werewolf to have the opportunity to take it, not to make a fortune off of people suffering the same bloody nuisance she was.

She met Harry and Ron for lunch after dropping off the last of her potions at the Cardiff Werewolf Association guildhall, slumping into the seat opposite them at the new Impervious Cauldron, Hannah Abbott's first of many planned cauldron-related cafés. Hermione reached into her bag and fished around, withdrawing the last of her vials.

Ron took it from her with barely a glance, uncorked it between two bites of crepe, and swallowed it back. He barely grimaced. "Thanks, Hermione. Yours are always the least revolting."

Harry snorted.

Hermione's eyes crinkled. "Malfoy made that one."

Ron faked a gag. "Figures." He gestured with his fork. "Want some? It's blackberry-bacon-venison."

In fact, she did. She pulled his plate across to her, and Ron barely scowled. He lifted his hand for Hannah's attention, gestured pointedly at his erstwhile crepe, and she nodded, hustling back to the ovens to find him a new one. Hermione munched on.

"I've no idea how you can eat that vile thing," Harry muttered, watching warily for Hannah's blonde head to reappear. "I can smell the blood from here."

"So can I," Ron said, but with far less disgust in his voice, and far more delight. Hannah's full moon menus were stuffed with all sorts of different rare meats, and as werewolf appetite rarely subsided, it turned out to be a smart business decision on her part. The week before and the days after a full moon always saw her café full to bursting with tired, hungry werewolves and their families.

"So," said Hermione, upon finishing the last of Ron's crepe. "Sure you don't want to come over tonight? There's a new documentary on the history of King Arthur—"

"Can't," Ron said, before she could really get going. "Harry's having a pick-up game of humans versus werewolves versus quaffle. I'm keeping for the werewolf team."

"It's gonna be brilliant!" Harry added.

Hermione scrunched her nose, looked from Ron to Harry. "Is that like football?"

"Yeah, it's brill. We just made it up today. Lavender's the _best_ striker. You'd never guess it to look at her."

"Want to come?" asked Harry. "I suppose Malfoy's welcome, too, if he's not worried about getting dirt in his coat."

Hannah came over and set a fresh crepe in front of Ron, smiling fondly at him. Hannah did love a man who could put food away, and given Ron's lycanthropy and natural inclination to graze constantly, he blew Neville out of the water in that department. "Thanks, Hannah."

"Thanks, Hannah," Hermione echoed, already forking off a piece of Ron's new crepe. "Could I get a cuppa, too?"

Ron suffered it about as well as Hermione had in school, when he'd been the one picking from her plate. Sometimes she felt guilty for how much she ragged on him then. She knew what it was like to be _constantly_ hungry now. Because she was. Especially, during the week leading up to the moon. Werewolf metabolism ran so fast, she'd probably starve in two days if she didn't eat.

She turned back to the men. "Is that safe? With humans about?"

"Wolfsbane," Harry said, waving his hand dismissively.

"Hmm," said Hermione. She chewed on a fat piece of blackberry-flavoured venison as she considered it. Harry didn't always come up with great plans, but sometimes he struck gold, so to speak. Every now and then, Hermione threw a little 'changing party' for a handful of close werewolf friends, but she'd never considered the idea of a party with humans about, too. It just seemed so—so _dangerous_.

It'd only been two years since they'd finally succeeded in abolishing the Werewolf Registry. She and Narcissa Malfoy had worked on it—anonymously and covertly—for almost five years before anything came of it. A targeted, relentless, Malfoy-funded pro-werewolf marketing campaign had helped, but there were still shops in Diagon Alley with crude signs declaring _NO BEASTS. THAT MEANS WOLVES TOO_.

They had a ways to go, for sure. And one drunk or douchey werewolf could ruin the whole thing for all of them if he accidentally or on-purpose nipped a human. Hermione was deeply opposed to such a thing.

On the other hand, Harry was a private person, and it was unlikely that he would have any other humans in his house on a full moon if they were the type to cause trouble. And with Luna, Teddy, and baby Portentia about, she could trust that every possible precaution would be taken.

"You trust all the humans?" she asked, just to be sure.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, we're doing it at the Burrow, so Arthur and Molly'll be about, too, anyway. And Andromeda's coming over to help chaperone since Tonks won't be able to watch Teddy. He was dead set on coming. Hey—know anyone else who could play for the human side? We're short one."

"Millicent, maybe," Hermione said, barely paying attention to the conversation. She was too busy calculating all the different ways this could go horribly, irreversibly wrong—and the few ways that it could be brilliant for their cause. If it got out that Harry Potter hosted werewolves at the full moon—with his wife and toddler about—then people would take notice. No doubt there'd be a front page spread in the _Prophet_ this weekend, at the latest.

"All right," she decided. Ron and Harry beamed at her, as if they were wired up to the same smile switch. "Draco's going to want to play centre-half. You know how he likes to stop other people from doing things they want to do."

Harry rolled his eyes, shared a look with Ron. "We know. Believe me."

"Still can't believe his fantasy team's in the lead _again_ this season," Ron grumbled.

The crepe had disappeared sometime between when it arrived and now, without Hermione noticing. She frowned down at Ron's empty plate, still hungry. Merlin, she hated moon days. It was a wonder she hadn't gained a stone since her bite.

Hannah brought the bill over and Ron paid before Hermione could get out her purse. The boys stood. "Just realised we've gotta run. Yewsap has Harry and me on a quick scouting mission this afternoon. Wants my nose."

"And your ginger arse," Harry added.

Ron ignored him, pointedly. "You're lucky your department considers you incapable of cognizant thought processes on moon days, Herm. Mine just _capitalises_ on it." He checked his watch. "Bugger—Harry we've gotta go if we're going to get done before moonrise. I don't want you to have to apparate me home again. You're shit at side-along."

Harry stopped to give her a brief hug on the way out. "You'll really come?" he asked. He frowned, chewed his lip. "Don't spend another moon night watching shit documentaries. We all know there's global warming; no sense in depressing yourself about it once a month. It's been two years since you killed the Registry; it's okay to have fun on the full moon."

"We'll come," said Hermione, suddenly feeling wrong-footed.

Harry's eyebrows went up. "Does Malfoy know that you've started making decisions for him?"

"If he hasn't figured it out by now, he doesn't deserve to know," said Hermione.

Harry smiled at her, and left. She sat at the table frowning down at the empty crepe plate for several long minutes. She had fun, didn't she?

Yes, she was quite sure she did. But—well, maybe she didn't _love_ watching documentary marathons once a month. And after seven years of it, it was becoming _quite_ old. Andromeda, Mr and Mrs Weasley, Harry, and Luna at least would be human. They were all competent wizards. And Wolfsbane was ubiquitous now, thanks to her and Draco.

Safe enough, she decided.

Hermione bought two more blackberry-bacon-venison crepes to take home with her. No King Arthur documentary, she supposed, but at least she didn't have to watch East Enders.

-x-

Draco was already back at her flat when Hermione returned. His nose twitched in the direction of her takeaway bag. He rose from the settee and prowled closer, neatly plucking the bag of crepes from her hands. Hermione rolled her eyes and followed him back to the living room, where he resumed flicking boredly through channels.

"How're your best twats doing?" he asked during an advert. "Still unreformable gits?"

Hermione snatched her half-eaten crepe back from him, and took a bite, chewing extra long to avoid responding, since he hated waiting. "Fine, yes," she said at last. Then, "You up for something a little different tonight?"

Draco turned to face her rather more quickly than she'd expected. "What kind of something different?" he asked. His eyes were already beginning to glow faintly yellow from the upcoming moonrise, and Hermione's heart fluttered strangely.

Hermione handed the crepe back to him because her hands didn't seem to know what else to do. "Well, Harry had an idea."

Malfoy sighed and flopped back against the couch. "Lovely."

"Humans versus werewolves versus quaffle," Hermione continued.

He cracked one yellow eye open. "I'm listening."

"I told them you'd want to play centre-half."

"Obviously," said Draco. He began to smirk. "It'll be Weasley and me against Potter?"

"Well, yes, obviously," Hermione said. "But seven on seven, like football. And with _very_ strict no-contact rules."

Draco was still smirking. "Will there be food?"

"It's at the Burrow, so of course," Hermione said. "Molly does love a barbeque." In fact, the thought of some rare chicken with lots of sauce was making the entire evening sound rather more enticing to Hermione, as well. Her stomach grumbled. They both looked towards the takeaway bag, but somehow the two extra crepes were gone. Hermione frowned.

"Yes, let's," Draco decided. "Anything's better than Channel Four again."

Hermione really wished she could argue that, but she couldn't.


	2. Humans vs Werewolves vs Quaffle

This chapter beta'd by **raa**. Thank you!

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**Chapter 02: Humans vs Werewolves vs Quaffle**

Even with Wolfsbane, the change was painful, annoying, and vaguely humiliating. Hermione didn't mind being a werewolf so much as she minded not having any control over when it happened. And she hated when it fell on her birthday, which it had done. Twice.

The Weasleys had a dedicated changing paddock erected for their three infected sons, and blessedly, it was crawling with privacy wards. Hermione and the other wolves attending tonight's little soiree locked themselves in at a quarter to six to wait for moonrise. She felt not unlike a circus animal, and gave Harry a wry little smile as he set the wards behind her.

Outside, in the garden, the uninfected continued chattering on, setting plates for their suppers and bowls for Hermione's and the other werewolves'. Which was degrading, but par for the course. Even for Hermione, the mechanics of proper table etiquette escaped her when she had paws. She watched them from within the confines of her warded pen. Molly and Fleur were setting hovering lanterns in place around a makeshift football field, and Harry now had Teddy around his shoulders, running him about and roaring to Ginny, 'Argh! We're a scary mountain troll!'

Draco walked up next to her, and cast his eyes briefly down to her face. He looked back out at the people gathered in the Weasleys' back garden, and then his fingers closed over her wrist in a hidden pattern: _Situation Under Control_.

Hermione exhaled in a rush, and with it went some of her anxiety. She smiled gratefully at him. It was an Unspeakable gesture, used, for communicating whilst among the '_Speakables'_. Her heart clenched a little; Malfoy could be such a good friend to her sometimes.

She repeated the gesture to him. 'I know,' she said.

His mouth twitched downwards for a moment. There was anxiety in the movement, and she wondered if he was, secretly, just as worried as her. His hand fell away from hers. 'Have you ever changed in front of humans before?'

'Not since the early days,' she said. 'Not since I was accepted.' _To Unspeakable training_. But she couldn't say that aloud.

Having the legendary Unspeakable Croaker arrive on one's doorstep with a coded letter that had to first be cracked before any job offer was valid did tend to wake one up, rather. It gave her the motivation to pull herself up from the overwhelming depression of being a werewolf outed even before her very first change. That was even before Tonks returned to the Ministry, and there was still question on whether Hermione would _ever_ find a job, much less the job she'd secretly always wanted.

Those early days after the final battle were terrifying and confusing. With thirty-nine confirmed bites that night and several more suspected, some of which were on high-profile witches and wizards, there were some in the public sphere willing to suddenly give werewolves a chance. There just weren't very _many_.

Hermione had decided then that she would damn well control her own life. No wizard, no Muggle, would stop her again. She cracked the code in 76 hours and showed up in the Department of Mysteries that Monday.

Draco nodded, and she knew he understood every one of those unsaid words.

He was not six inches from her when they were both bitten. There would always be that one horrifying moment between them when Greyback pulled himself from beneath the rubble of the blasted wall and eyed them both, deciding whom to take first. In the end, he had swiped one big arm around each of their shoulders and tackled them down together. Hermione heard Malfoy's raw screams in her dreams sometimes, as clearly as she had that night, when she'd grabbed his hand and let him _squeeze_ as they were mauled.

When Greyback flung them away in favour of returning Harry and Ron's attacks, she landed atop him, and struggled to get him up so they could help or run, she wasn't sure which. But he'd noticed their wounds first; their blood had run _black_, and that was the moment when they both _understood_.

In front of them, Fred's leg was half-buried under a blasted wall, and all Hermione had been able to think at the time was, _Thank Merlin Greyback was mauling you_, because if he'd not been bent over Fred's struggling form when the side of the castle was blasted in, that wall would have surely killed him. Goyle laid Stunned and untouched at their feet next to the broken diadem. Twice he'd been lucky that night, Hermione always remembered with some amount of annoyance.

There was a photograph of that moment. It showed up in the _Daily Prophet _the next day, with the headline, _Chosen One to Become Werewolf?_ It was right beneath the feature story, _Boy Who Lived Lives Again! You Know Who Defeated in Epic Battle! _Hermione had numbly wondered who was stupid enough to take photographs during battle. Malfoy had it framed on his wall, because he had a dark sense of humour, and because it irked his father.

She still did not fully understand how Greyback managed to infect them all that night, but she had a nagging suspicion that it was related to however Harry had avoided developing lycanthropy, even though his blood ran black that night same as theirs. They were getting closer to an answer with their Unspeakable research. She was sure of it.

'I've changed in front of my father plenty of times. He used to brew our Wolfsbane for Mum and me,' said Draco, and Hermione blinked several times, startled by his voice.

'But never anyone who wasn't family,' she guessed.

'No.'

She nodded, watching little Teddy tumble about with Victoire on the grass. Portentia desperately wanted to play, too, but could hardly keep up with the big kids. Merlin, she was already four.

'I've never changed in front of my parents. I always came here and changed with Ron and the twins, after George…' she trailed off, not wishing to get into that. Draco was her best friend, sometimes anyway, but Weasley Secrets were Weasley Secrets. She cleared her throat. 'Bill chaperoned us.'

The atmosphere inside the pen was getting more restless. Hermione glanced at the sky. Draco's fingers pressed in that pattern on her wrist again, and she tried to relax. She could tell by instinct alone that they were within two minutes of moonrise. She wasn't afraid of the pain; after seven years of it, it was little more than an inconvenience. She was just _nervous_.

Nothing like this had ever been attempted before. There were kids about. Intellectually, she knew everything would be fine—Bill's charm had seven years' worth of testing to back it up—but she couldn't help being anxious.

Hermione heaved a sigh and turned back turns the pen. Ron and the twins were lying back on the grass, hands behind their heads, watching the moon make its way to the top of the sky. They were easy with the change in a way that Hermione still wasn't. Hermione didn't dislike being a werewolf, but she was too organised a person to ever really be wholly satisfied with a condition that controlled three per cent of her life.

Fred and George thought it all a grand lark. No one could capitalise off of a blood-borne disease quite like a Weasley twin. Especially if it was a disease they shared, and, frankly, had no problem with. No one could be _pleased_ about having a blood-borne disease quite like a Weasley twin.

Lavender and Tonks leaned back against the bars, chattering about Teddy, and also watched the sky. Hermione trusted all of these people. She felt safe that they wouldn't destroy all the work she'd done to move forward werewolf rights.

But also in the pen were two people Hermione was less comfortable with: Ernie Macmillan, who worked with Bill at Gringotts, and Marietta Edgecombe, who did not have _SNEAK_ written on her forehead anymore. Because one night some weeks after the final battle, Hermione'd felt guilty, and owled her the counter-curse. They'd hadn't spoken then or since.

'Who invited her?' she asked Draco, quietly.

He shrugged. 'I thought she was dating your best twat's brother. The one who works in the Minister's office.'

'Percy,' Hermione corrected, absently. She chewed her lip. Hermione supposed she had seen Marietta standing near him before they all trooped into the warded pen for moonrise.

'She works in Transportation,' Draco added, eyeing Marietta's tense posture.

Hermione felt that guilt again. How had she not known that? She'd thought all the Ministry werewolves had lunch with them on new moons now, but Marietta had never come. Maybe for good reason, given their history. She was obviously uncomfortable here, but Hermione was grimly impressed by the guts it must've taken to expose oneself like this in front of a horde of ex-DA members who certainly didn't have much cause to like her overmuch. And Draco Malfoy, who was, by all accounts, still mostly a twat.

The moon rose before she could think further on the topic, and then she was bent double with the shock of sudden, gut-wrenching pain. She could bear it, but the first surge always caught her by surprise. Next to her, Draco staggered back to support himself against the bars, breathing through clenched teeth. Hermione fell to her hands and knees, somehow landing partially on top of Ron. She weakly tried to move off, and their eyes met. She watched, transfixed, as the blue of his irises shrank and darkened until they were glowing gold, and then she yowled as her bones began changing, lengthening and shortening to make her body into something unnatural.

Hermione mentally enumerated the 42 Rules of Runes to distract her long enough for the change to complete. When it had, she flopped to the ground, breathing raggedly. Draco lay himself gracefully down next to her, and she wagged her tail against the grass in tired welcome. She was sore. She could've just run a marathon for as exhausted as she felt.

Once she'd regained her breathing, she pulled herself up again and looked about for Bill's ingenious werewolf-proof exit charms. They were used all over the UK now, and the proceeds from patents continued to bring in a tidy little sum for him each month.

There was one hovering near the edge of the pen, glowing red and purple inside yet another set of wards. She entered the sub-pen and stared at the collection of pictures. There was a kneazle, a phoenix, a squid, and a broom. She pressed her paw to the broom, and the puzzle disappeared to be replaced by another.

_Dreamless Sleep is to Nightmares as Pepper-Up is to ? _She pressed her paw to the box that said _Colds_ and the puzzle was replaced again.

_(14 + 2) __÷ 4 = ?_ There was no selection here, only a blank spot for her to draw in, as best she could with huge wolf feet: _4_.

Four more questions followed, including two that required she write out entire sentences, to ensure that she really was of sane mind. Finally, the wards shimmered in front of her, signalling the end of the test. Hermione slipped through. The wards sizzled and crackled against her fur as they ensured no other werewolf would try to come through with her, and she hated that part, as it always left her with static.

Across the garden, Teddy saw her and cheered. He was accustomed to Tonks doing the same once a month to prove her Wolfsbane was effective. He was also, Hermione knew, a big fan of werewolves in general.

Draco solved his own puzzles right after and they trotted over to the Weasleys et al, letting the delicious scent of lightly-barbecued chicken and lamb guide them. Mrs Weasley beamed at them as they approached and set down two legs of lamb in bowls.

'How are you both feeling?' she asked. 'No lingering pain? Hermione, I recognise your coat, but who's this with you? Is it Draco?'

Draco wagged his tail sedately against the grass in affirmation and Mrs Weasley beamed again. 'What a handsome cream coat. Ah—and there are my boys coming through now. Supper!' she called to them.

Hermione heard the sound of twelve distinct, padded feet pounding against the ground as they rushed towards them, skidding to a halt in near-identical russet-coloured bodies. Ron was bigger than the twins, and George had only one pointy ear, but all three of their coats were bright red and glossy. Hermione admitted herself jealous. Even as a wolf, she was bushy.

'Mummm!' Teddy yelled happily.

His hair was pink, as usual, and he laughed when Tonks bent down for him to climb on her back. Even in wolf form, she had enough control of her metamorphmagus abilities to turn her entire coat hot pink. They bounded around for a bit, and Hermione watched, pleased. She'd never seen Tonks around Teddy when she was transformed, but it was pleasant to watch. Lavender did not have the ability to dictate her own coat colour, but she had still managed to keep a lavender-coloured bow tied fashionably around her neck.

Luna came over then, with little Portentia, blue eyes huge and curious, trailing behind. 'Hello, Hermione,' she said. 'It's lovely to finally see you in your alternate form. I'm honoured. Portentia, say hello to Auntie Hermione.'

''Lo, Auntie Herm,' Portentia dutifully recited. 'You look diff'rent.'

Hermione laughed, and it came out like a little huff. She wagged her tail, and Portentia reached out and patted her roughly on the head. 'Pretty,' Portentia decided. Her eyes then found Draco, who was gnawing at what was left of his lamb bone, and widened further. She said, '_Really_ pretty.'

'That's Uncle Draco,' Luna informed her. 'You can pet him if he says it's okay.'

Hermione had no idea how any of them were supposed to say it was okay, but Portentia was definitely Luna's child, and, even at four, could read between lines. She was also Harry's child, and therefore unafraid of anything. At all. Even werewolves glowering at her as she approached. Still, Draco bowed his head and condescended to let Portentia ruck up his fur as she petted him backwards.

'This was one of Harry's better ideas, I think,' Luna said, when it was just the two of them. She'd sat down on the grass next to Hermione, a glass of wine in one hand.

Hermione wasn't sure she could agree with that, but she was hoping for the best, and if it came to the worst, well, she was a big wolf, and she would rip _anyone_ to shreds who tried to hurt her goddaughter. Or Harry. Or Luna, or anyone here, really. Azkaban be damned. She scanned the garden, taking in all the humans and werewolves and letting the scents of their emotions filter through her like a running commentary of goings-on.

It occurred to her then, by the distinct lack of her scent in the general area, that there was still one werewolf missing from their little group. Marietta. Hermione's heart jumped in her throat, suddenly anxious again. Had she been unable to solve the puzzles? That was hard to believe; they were meant only to prove a human mind, not require advanced intelligence. And Marietta had been a Ravenclaw besides.

'I saw Marietta lying down by the paddock,' Luna said, as if she could read Hermione's mind. Relief swept through her—not up to anything then, just antisocial. 'It must be hard on her, not feeling welcome. One tries to fit in, but it isn't always easy.'

Hermione's brow drew down in a frown. She sighed, and heaved herself up, trotting back towards the pen. It wasn't hard to find Marietta. She was a light-coloured blotch against an otherwise twilit background. She looked up as Hermione approached, no doubt smelling her long before she saw her come over the small hill. Hermione paused before her, and they eyed one another.

Marietta's ears went back submissively. Hermione approached, relieved that she wouldn't have to fight her on this.

She circled round and nudged at Marietta's bum until she rose on her feet. Marietta turned to look back at her, and Hermione nudged her bum again. When Marietta refused to move, Hermione _woofed_ lowly, and Marietta's ears immediately went down again. Percy saw them then, and waved Marietta over. Hermione smelled relief flood the air, and then Marietta headed for the gathered people, and was met with cheers from the humans present, who plied her with big cuts of meat and bowls of wine. Hermione, feeling uncomfortable again, returned to her spot by Luna and Draco, next to the artificially lit garden and makeshift football pitch.

Harry came over then, bringing her a bottle of butterbeer and a bowl. She licked his finger when he tipped it in, and he grinned down at her. 'How're my three favourite ladies?' he asked.

'We're, fine, Harry,' said Luna. 'You might want to ask that of your fantasy league partner instead.'

They all turned to Draco, and Hermione was amused to find that Portentia was now astride his back, urging him to ferry her about the garden. Draco had his paws over his muzzle, eyes closed, as if he could not bear the indignity of it all.

Harry snorted. 'Come on, Malfoy. Be a mate. Just one ride about the pitch for my kid.'

Draco glowered at him, but, to Hermione's amusement, did stand and trot off with Portentia on his back, head high and dignified. By his gait, Hermione strongly suspected that Lucius had once subjected him to many an afternoon of dressage on the Abraxans.

'She's going to want to play wolf all the time now, and I won't be able to do it for her,' Harry said, watching as Draco gained confidence with Portentia's ability to hang on, and began bounding up and down the garden.

_Oh, Harry_, Hermione thought. Her ears fell a little.

He frowned at the collection of scars on his forearm, where Greyback's teeth had sunk into his skin.

'Oh, Harry,' Luna said. She ran her fingertips over the scars and Harrys forearm clenched at the touch.

Hermione smelled arousal and something deeper, something wolves didn't readily understand, but which the human part of her thought might be intense love. She felt like a voyeur, and like she was missing out on something profound. Across the garden, Ron was play-fighting with Ernie, and Hermione wondered if that brief kiss they'd shared in the Room of Requirement could've ever led to more, if things hadn't turned out like this, if he hadn't ended up on-and-offing with Lavender all the time.

_C'est la vie_, she supposed. There was someone out there for her. She just had to find him. Or her.

'Who's ready for some football?' Bill yelled.

Harry gave them a wry, embarrassed grin, and jumped up, grabbing his daughter off Draco's back and swinging her around before depositing her in Mr Weasley's lap. Draco bounded off, barrelling into Ron and knocking him sideways. They play-fought for several minutes, but Draco won, as he always did, holding Ron's muzzle triumphantly.

Millicent had indeed come, and was lacing up a pair of cleats while she talked goblin politics with Ginny and Bill. Dean and Theo Nott were also playing for the human side, and Hermione supposed she trusted them well enough. Nott had gone back to Hogwarts to finish his NEWTs. Hermione had done a home study, but they'd met through Malfoy, and had a few pub nights all together because of it. He was a decent sort; had never had a prejudiced word to say about hers or Draco's condition, but Hermione sometimes wondered if it might be because there was something else to their friendship, at least on Theo's side.

The final spot on the human team went to Teddy, who was only eight, but had all the fierce determination of any Hufflepuff at battle. Tonks bounced all around him, and Hermione got the amused feeling that she was trying to psych out her own child. If the confused colouring of his hair was any indication, it was working. Tonks put her head to his belly and knocked him down on his bum, then seemed pleased with herself for it.

'Nymphadora!' Andromeda, sitting next to Molly, called sharply. Tonks' pink tail immediately went between her legs. 'No roughhousing Teddy while a wolf, young lady. You _know_ that.'

In short order, the game began. Draco was a brilliant centre-half, as Hermione knew he would be. The quaffle flew around them all, charmed to dodge and dive like an overlarge snitch with a four-foot altitude. Harry tackled Ron to the ground when he caught it between his teeth, laughing uproariously when his glasses flew off. There hadn't really been a great deal of thought put into strategy, Hermione suspected, but everyone seemed to be having a good time regardless. Ginny and Dean were perhaps having a little too much fun, and Tonks was more of a clumsy obstacle than any real threat, but Teddy was certainly enjoying running the quaffle passed her.

'I don't think Harry's had this much fun at the full moon since before you and Ron were bitten,' Luna said. She took a sip of her wine, and smiled down at Hermione.

_I know_, Hermione thought. She kept her eyes constantly moving though, still a little anxious about having so many humans around changed werewolves. If someone was bitten, it would be disastrous for her campaigns.

'He's flooded with wrackspurts,' Luna continued, shaking her head. 'Stress from work leaving him vulnerable, you know? Head Auror Yewsap's got him and Ron on a new case, and they think there might be werewolves involved.'

Hermione's ears twitched, and Luna smiled again as Portentia flopped in front of her and demanded her hair be braided. Luna picked up the fine, black strands and began weaving it effortlessly into an elaborate braid the likes of which Hermione'd never seen before.

'He hasn't said, but I can tell,' said Luna. 'It's in the way he gets so defensive when you or Ron are mentioned. He's worried that you're open to attack. Therefore, werewolf-related.'

Hermione desperately wished she could speak right now because she had at least a thousand urgent questions. She was going to drive herself mad with the frustration, but Luna only gazed at her again and Hermione knew that, with her, there was sometimes no need for speaking. Luna could listen well enough for the both of them.

'I do think Ron's aware,' said Luna, as if Hermione had asked the question. She'd wanted to, at least. 'This past week, they've been to the pub twice after work. But when Harry goes to the pub, he changes out of his work robes first, so of course they were really working late on a case that he didn't want me to worry about. We aren't worried about Daddy though, are we, Ten?'

'No, Mummy,' said Portentia. 'Daddy's invisible.'

'Invincible,' Luna corrected. 'He's not really, darling. Even Daddy can die. Just like you and me.'

Portentia blinked several times, absorbing this, while Hermione, horrified, looked on. She was only four, for Merlin's sake, there was no need to terrify her like that—

'Okay,' said Portentia, shrugging. 'Because death is, erm, a transfligring of life.'

'Transfiguration,' said Luna, absently. She paused to sip her wine again, and then tied off Portentia's weird braid with a tap of her wand. 'And Daddy's very smart and strong, so he probably won't die soon.'

'Good,' said Portentia. She decided then that Victoire would be more interesting, and so ambled off in that direction, leaving Hermione once again alone with Luna.

'Oh, I suppose I ought to take some photographs,' said Luna, producing a camera from somewhere in her flowy robes. 'Daddy was very pleased when Harry told him about this idea. He's planning to run a feature on it this week. _War Hero Werewolves at Large on Football Pitch_ — do you think that's a good headline? I'm not sure it really captures the sentiment. I was thinking something more like, _Pink Werewolves on Parade: the Aurors' most fashionable werewolves take on its least fashionable humans_.'

She snapped several pictures of Lavender and Tonks collaborating to tackle Ginny to the ground, then turned to get one of Hermione, flopped about on the grass. 'It was good to talk to you again, Hermione. I hope this becomes a regular thing for us. Portentia does so love seeing her godmother.'

Thus alone again, Hermione settled her chin onto her front paws and let the sounds of the game wash over her. She heard Lavender yip in pain as someone trod on her toes, and smelled Malfoy's smugness as he got the quaffle past Dean and into the net. Cheers rose up from those not playing, even Fleur and Victoire.

'Traitors!' Bill called to them.

Hermione had no idea what the score was when her nose alerted her to another wolf's approach. She lifted her head, ears up. Marietta slunk down a bit, not too much, but enough. Hermione met her eyes, agreeing, and then the other wolf came forward enough to tilt her tweed-coloured head down. Everything in her posture screamed _apology_.

Hermione sighed. She had not expected Marietta to be here tonight, but…well, she was pack. Everyone turned during the final battle was, instinctually, pack. And she wouldn't let anyone else ostracise her pack, so she couldn't in good conscience do it herself.

If Hermione could forgive Malfoy, then she could forgive Marietta.

Marietta settled down beside her, and Hermione turned her head to give her snout a brief lick. _Acceptance_, it said, to werewolves. And Hermione meant it. She would not let Marietta be left behind anymore. Because she did not leave pack behind.

-x-

Hermione woke up on the Weasleys' living room floor, sprawled half-on top of Draco's chest, with Portentia curled into her other side. Everything smelt of wet dog and grass. She pushed herself up, and came face to face with him. The alert look of his eyes spoke volumes to how long he'd been awake.

'Morning,' she said, yawning. She scrunched her nose, tried to cover her mouth with her hand, but wasn't entirely certain she'd done it in time. He smirked up at her, and she felt his hand move from her lower back. She hadn't even realised it was there until it wasn't.

'Morning,' said Draco. His voice was low and raspy with sleep, as it always was after he stayed the night on a full moon.

She peered around; Fred and George were sharing a single armchair, somehow, and Ron and Lavender were spread out along the couch. They were in one of their _on-again_ fazes, Hermione supposed. It was a dance six years old by now, and Hermione dearly wished Ron would just get on with it and propose so they could all stop living this soap opera.

In the kitchen, Molly spoke quietly to someone else, and several pans clanged dully, as if muffled by a Silencing Spell that she only heard through because of her overextended post-moon senses. Hermione pulled herself to her feet and, with a tilt of her head to Draco, went into the kitchen. Tonks and Teddy were at the table, giggling together over a shared bowl of pink porridge, and Harry was sitting across from them, happily accepting bites of egg from Luna. Molly and Arthur, standing by the sink with matching cups of tea, saw her come in and beamed. She couldn't smell Marietta or Ernie anywhere, but their scent was only a few hours old, so she reckoned they'd left right after changing back.

'Wasn't it wonderful, Hermione dear?' said Arthur. 'A roaring success! I'm chuffed, really.'

Hermione slotted a smile at him. 'It went much better than I, in the cold recesses of my mind, worried it could have gone,' she agreed.

Harry opened his eyes long enough to roll them in her direction, and then gave Malfoy, who was sitting down next to her, a speaking look. No doubt there were dozens of uncomplimentary things said about her in that one brief meeting of eyes.

'Is my kid still sleeping?' Harry asked.

'Soundly,' said Hermione.

'Brill. Molly, could I convince you to mind her for the afternoon? There're some things I wanted to run by Hermione over lunch.'

'Of course, Harry,' said Arthur. 'She can help me in the shed. I have some new Legos that need constructing.'

'Legos!' squealed Portentia, who, as it happened, was no longer sleeping. Hermione winced. Sound. She _hated_ sound the morning after the change. Any sound at all, really, but especially the high frequency sound of excited four-year-olds. Harry groaned, and she understood the feeling very well.

-x-

Narcissa called the moment Hermione stepped into her flat. She'd intended only to change into fresh clothes before Harry's mysterious lunch, but Narcissa had an uncanny ability to know when Hermione would be walking by her fireplace, and therefore unable to hide in time. Or perhaps it was just because Draco'd Apparated home moments before.

'Hermione, darling,' said Narcissa, blandly. Even in flames, her heavy eyelids blinked regally.

Hermione turned, an over-bright smile pasted onto her face. 'Narcissa, good morning. What brings you?'

Narcissa waved a hand, vaguely. 'I called to see how you were this morning.'

It was a total lie, but Hermione's smile didn't falter. She wished she were doing as well as Narcissa, truth be told. That woman could spend six days straight awake (and probably did sometimes), and still glide around looking as beautiful and refreshed as a summer's day. It was nauseating. Once, Hermione had thought there would be benefits to working on pro-werewolf campaigns with Narcissa Malfoy—benefits like access to her night cream recipes. But that wish had yet to yield results.

'Ah, you know,' Hermione said vaguely.

She continued to smile. They chatted about the lovely November weather for a few moments, and Narcissa asked Hermione if she thought Draco were getting overly thin, and whether Hermione expected that she would go see _The Poltergeist of the Opera_, which was returning to the theatre in December, before she finally came to her point.

In the background, there was a faint pop of Apparition. Hermione inhaled: it was Ron.

'I've heard tales of anti-werewolf legislation in the hamper,' said Narcissa, and waited. 'From reliable sources.'

Hermione did not even bother with pretence. She fell to her knees in front of the hearth, giving the other woman all of her attention. 'I haven't.'

Narcissa pursed her lips. 'Is it true that your Potter and Weasley have been working several werewolf cases?' she asked.

Hermione, having only just heard this information second-hand the night before, didn't bother to wonder how Narcissa found out. The woman's connections were vast, and, frankly, terrifying. That she'd heard at all, and was giving the rumour credence, was enough to raise Hermione's hackles.

'I think so, maybe. I'm meeting with them shortly actually. I think it may be about that.'

'Take Draco,' Narcissa instructed.

Hermione would have rolled her eyes, but the Malfoys did bankroll all of her werewolf rebranding campaigns, so. 'I'd planned to. He should be home now, changing.'

Narcissa waved a hand again, as if she had no idea where her son was and wasn't overly concerned. A complete and utter lie, but Hermione allowed purebloods their little idiosyncrasies, especially purebloods who were werewolves.

'Good,' said Narcissa. Then, 'Draco will be there shortly. I must meet with Lucius now, regarding the state of our winter hot house. Do keep me informed, darling.'

'Yes, Narcissa,' said Hermione, dutifully. The Floo disconnected.

'Should block your Floo from that one,' Ron advised, coming in from the kitchen.

She gave him a wry look. 'I'd like to see you block anything from Narcissa Malfoy.'

His nose scrunched, turning his freckles into one giant splotch on his nose. 'As soon as she figures out just what you and little Malfoy do at the Ministry, she'll be all over you to marry the pasty git so you can join forces more thoroughly.'

He shuddered dramatically, and Hermione made a horrified face, though likely not for the same reasons as Ron. Malfoy was her Unspeakable partner, her Wolfsbane brewing partner, and often her dinner and boredom partner. They were…well, they were friends. And had been for years. Hermione didn't mind him, even when he had his git face on. She just could not imagine the absolute nightmare of having Narcissa Malfoy as a mother-in-law. The woman never slept. Even by werewolf standards, she was a whirlwind. Hermione would never have another free moment to herself, would have to spend time with bigoted-against-everyone-but-purebloods-and-pureblood-werewolves-Lucius, and—

'Calm down,' Ron said. He sipped his milky tea. It was from her kitchen. She couldn't stand whole milk even before her bite, and after a full moon, her senses were always especially out of whack. The smell was going to make her gag. 'You smell distressed.'

'I _am_ distressed,' she growled, only then realising how true it was. Maybe she needed a holiday.

Ron immediately put his hands up in a placating gesture.

'Sorry, sorry,' said Ron. Instinctually, he tilted his head ever so slightly, baring his neck. He probably hadn't even noticed he did it, but Hermione did, or at least the wolf in her did. She calmed down, grinned at him sheepishly.

'It's been a rough week,' she said, in apology. 'Graves has been complaining about the department budget. Kingsley cut funding _again_, and _werewolf-related research_,' she said, with scare quotes, 'is low priority right now. Narcissa's sources think we might be in for another firestorm. And now, you and Harry may or may not be investigating a string of werewolf attacks. Can you blame me?'

Ron scrunched his face up, then, mercifully, Vanished the milky tea. 'Come on then. Harry's getting us a private table at Hannah's.'

Hermione sighed. 'Let me just change first.' She'd hoped for a quick shower, too, but alas. If wishes were thestrals, and all that rot.

-x-

The day they passed Unspeakable training and were partnered together, Draco was already well past the point of saving where Granger was concerned.

Head Unspeakable Croaker had handed him is exam results and un-hooded him before his fellow Unspeakables. Draco remembered blinking in the dim light, for the first time seeing the faces of all his colleagues. A second later, Hermione Granger's hood came off, and—Draco really should have been more surprised than he was.

By that time, he'd already started brewing Wolfsbane with her, and eating crap takeaway curry with her, and running into her at his mother's office many times a week as they strategised pro-werewolf campaigns. She'd been a constant in his life since that moment she squeezed his hand as they lost part of their humanity together. It shouldn't have been a surprise that she chose to be an Unspeakable, too.

It wasn't, really. It was just a surprise that, until that moment, he hadn't known how utterly lost he would be without her. How intricately she was woven into his life. How he wouldn't like to even _exist_ without her.

It was sad and it was pathetic.

He suspected his mother knew.

'Do invite Hermione to our little soiree,' said Narcissa as she rose from the hearth, graceful as any queen. She levitated a wax-sealed envelope to Draco with an absent flick of her wand. The front of it said, in his Mum's flowing calligraphic hand, _Mademoiselle Hermione Granger_.

Draco narrowed his eyes. 'We had better not be having a French theme this year.'

'Pah, darling,' said Narcissa. 'Have you forgotten? New Years Eve will be a moon night. I simply felt that "Miss Granger" was too…_Hogwarts_.'

Draco's fingers clenched around the parchment. 'Then how do you expect to host _a little soiree_ this year?'

'I'm afraid I'm pilfering the idea from your Potter.'

'He's not my Potter,' Draco replied automatically.

She waved a hand. 'Do you or do you not participate in a fantasy Quidditch league with him every year?'

Draco hardly thought that was relevant. He did that because he liked to beat Potter and Weasley. It didn't matter if it was at Quidditch, fantasy Quidditch, or fly-fishing. So long as he won. Or more importantly: so long as they lost. But then, his mind let him see past his testosterone, and he finally absorbed the actual words his mother had said. 'What do you mean by _Potter's idea_?'

'A _changing party_, darling. It's rather avant-garde, don't you think?'

'It's rather _suicidal_, I think,' he said. 'It was dangerous enough last night, but mostly Weasleys, so still largely normal even if the whole lot of them were werewolves. You can't tell me that you expect to hold a New Years Eve gala, with hundreds of drunken guests, many of them werewolves, and expect nothing to go wrong. What does Father think about this idea?'

And further: how did she even find out about the bloody thing so quickly?

'Oh, he hates it, of course,' said Narcissa. She moved over to the settee and picked up her needlework.

'Of course,' said Draco. Then, 'Hermione will never agree to this. It's madness.'

'She will,' Narcissa said. 'Because I'm inviting the wizards who are even now writing up brand new anti-werewolf legislation.'

Draco froze. 'What?'

His mother looked up from her stitches. She smiled, but it was full of repressed fury. 'Yes.'

'But we just sorted the Werewolf Registry two years ago!'

'I know, darling,' said Narcissa.

She snapped her fingers, and a house elf appeared with tea. Draco scrunched his nose at the smell of cream, but otherwise made no move.

Narcissa continued: 'But they seem to think that werewolves should have restrictions on their Apparition licenses. _Alors_, I rather think these are people who we want to keep an eye on. Believe me, the werewolf guest list will be _very_ closely vetted—only the absolute most trusted. And your father will be there, of course, to trigger the wards if the need arises. Which it won't.'

Draco exhaled in a rush, but the frustration didn't leave him. He stuffed the invitation in his pocket. 'I have to go.'

'Give Potter my regards.'

'Oh, for fuck's sake,' Draco muttered as he turned to leave. He knew his mother heard him—she was a werewolf after all—but she could scent his mood well enough not to comment on it. He stalked to the Apparition antechamber and Disapparated with an angry twist.

He landed outside the Impervious Cauldron, and prowled inside, still angry. Only Potter was there, thank Merlin, because Hermione or Weasley would surely have been able to smell his fury before he even reached the table. As it was, he got a few odd looks from other werewolves as he passed their tables, but one strong glower in their direction had them tipping their necks in submission. He ignored them all in favour of slouching down at the banquette Potter secured for them.

'Malfoy,' Potter greeted, happily enough.

Draco sneered. 'Potter.' He tapped his foot. The invitation was burning a hole in his pocket, and since he was wearing Burberry robes, he liked that not at all. 'Where's Granger?'

'Ron went to round her up,' said Potter, shrugging. They stared at each other for a few minutes. Potter raised an eyebrow. 'What's up your arse?'

Draco wrinkled his nose. Then, huffing, reached into his pocket and deposited the invitation on the table between them. 'You've created a monster, Potter. And I have a feeling that I'll mean that literally, soon enough.'

'What do you mean?'

'Mother's hosting a _changing party_. On New Year's Eve. And inviting humans. I'm sure your invitation will be along shortly.'

'With…with people?' asked Potter. Upon seeing Draco's exasperated look, he clarified, 'I mean, people who aren't family? Like, "acquaintances" people?'

'Unfortunately so,' Draco agreed.

The door jingled, and Hermione's scent materialised. Draco relaxed a little. Potter turned to watch their approach, but Draco didn't need to; he could tell Hermione's precise position by the strength of her smell alone. She slid into the banquette next to him, and, wordlessly, he pushed the invitation to her.

She looked at him, frowning, all dark eyes and pointed nose—vaguely Eastern European and wholly mesmerising. Not for the first time, Draco wondered if some relative, way back, could be found on a Durmstrang student list.

'What's this?'

Draco scowled. 'My mother's doing.'

She lifted an eyebrow in understanding, then slipped a finger beneath the seal, popping it away. Her eyes scanned the parchment, and she frowned again. 'This is absurd.'

'What's absurd?' said Weasley, pulling up a chair on the end. His arms were full of Yorkshire puddings and behind him, Hannah Abbott floated two plates of kippers, at least a pound of bacon, two Cornish hens, and four glasses of Sparkling Cauldron Juice, the café's signature drink. Draco was fairly certain it was only grapefruit juice, elderberry extraction, muddled blueberries, and a bubbling charm, but he could appreciate an entrepreneurial woman, so he held his tongue. Anyway, it tasted good.

'Narcissa Malfoy,' said Hermione absently. Her eyes were now firmly fixed on the Cornish hen.

'Could've told you that,' said Potter.

Draco shot him a dark look. 'Mind your tongue about my mother, Potter.'

Potter shrugged and reached for one of the kippers, but a growl from Weasley had him pulling his hand back with speed. Draco smirked and took some bacon. No one growled at him.

'Anything else for my favourite customers?' asked Hannah.

'I think I need a salad,' said Potter. 'This lot's unlikely to let me have anything else. Mind you don't send out Caesar dressing with it, in case they smell the anchovies.'

Probably wise, Draco admitted. Granger was already on her second kipper as it was. 'Have you got any more of those blackberry-bacon-venison crepes?' asked Draco. 'The ones from yesterday?'

Hannah wrinkled her nose. 'Yeah. Probably a bit stale by now.'

'Do I look like I care?' he asked. 'We'll take whatever's left.'

She rolled her eyes, and turned away to do as he asked. A dozen different privacy spells from four different wands sprung up around the banquette as soon as she left. The air sparked with the upsurge of magic.

Draco slid his wand away. 'What's this about you two morons on a string of werewolf bite cases?'

'How did you find out so quickly?' asked Potter.

'Mother told me just now,' said Draco.

'Luna told me last night,' Hermione added.

Potter frowned. 'I haven't even told Luna yet…' He trailed off, as three heads turned to give him very pointed looks. Even Draco knew there was no point in hiding something from Lovepotter, or whatever she was calling herself these days. 'Right.'

'They aren't bites, really,' said Weasley, in that slow way that made Draco wonder if he wasn't sure how to form sentences or if he was trying to be dramatic. The latter, as it turned out.

'What do you mean, not _really_?' said Hermione.

He tore off a bite of chicken thigh, but thankfully chewed and swallowed before replying. 'Well, see, there aren't any victims, are there?'

Draco exhaled in frustration, leaning back against the banquette seat. 'Then how are there _crimes_?'

'Magical residue's off the charts,' said Potter. 'Neighbours call and report 'disturbances', but by the time we get out there, no one's around. There's werewolf magical signatures in the area, but no werewolves. Or blood. Or anything really. Something's going on, but no one's missing. Like the victims don't want to be found.'

Hermione inhaled sharply. 'No.'

Draco frowned. He had a feeling he knew exactly what she was thinking. 'Bite cults?' he guessed.

'That's what we're thinking,' Weasley agreed soberly. 'I bloody fucking hope not.'

'This is the last thing we need,' Hermione groaned. Weasley nodded in agreement.

'We're still trying to find a link,' Potter added. 'Nothing so far. Ron hasn't been able to distinguish any scents from the crime scenes. Everything's…how did you say it?'

'Muddled,' said Weasley. 'Like if you took a dozen werewolves, wrung 'em out into a cauldron, stirred it up, and then poured it on the ground.'

Draco knew exactly what he meant. He frowned. Because it was impossible. Werewolves each had their own scent, partially determined by their human lives and partially determined by their magical signatures. It was something even more distinctive than fingerprints. Even Weasley's twin brothers had vastly different smells.

'Mother thinks there's anti-werewolf legislation in the works,' said Draco. 'Could there be a connection?'

'Maybe,' said Potter. He bit his lip. 'Fuck. Probably. Who knows, really?'

Not Draco, that was for sure. He ate a piece of bacon while he thought, though he didn't really need an excuse for bacon the day after the full moon.

'I hate to say this,' said Hermione then, 'but…maybe we should go to the New Year's Eve party. Narcissa's usually right about this sort of thing, and if she is, we need to get as close as possible to the people behind the strings.'

Draco grimaced. _New Year, New Wolf!_ the invitations read. He hated taking risks like this, but he _despised_ the thought of someone trying to fuck with his pack's safety. Granger's safety in particular. 'I agree,' he said.

Weasley shrugged, and the gesture was mirrored by Potter. Merlin, it was like they were the same person sometimes. If he hadn't married Lovegood, Draco would have been certain there was something going on there.

Hermione tapped the _Accept_ option on the invitation with her wand, and it disappeared in a puff of sparkly smoke. She grinned up at Draco, a little wryly. 'Are you going to be my plus-one?'

'Obviously,' said Draco, as casually as he could. Then, 'Who else would accept a date with a werewolf?'

She laughed, but the pathetic thing was, he hadn't been joking. Much. She bumped her shoulder against his playfully, and offered him another slice of bacon. Well, he could live with this, he supposed. There were worse things after all—like Granger not being around at all.


End file.
